Poker face
by neverhappy10
Summary: Brittany and Santana play a good old game of strip poker.


**A little thing I sorta thought up yesterday. I HOPE you'll like it. This took me a really long time. So review? Seriously, review, please.**

**But just a little side note: this isn't really based on the Gaga song, so don't expect that.**

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><p>She's cold from the low temperature of the air conditioning, and yes, the lack of clothing too, even though it's probably 100 degrees outside and they would definitely feel the heat if the windows were open, or even the blinds for that matter. But then that pervert neighbor guy of the Pierces' would see. That guy could give Mr Schue a run for his money. So unfortunately, they're hidden inside, and as it is, she's got goosebumps on her skin (all over).<p>

She's also hot. Very hot, and it's got nothing to do with the weather.

Staring at her from not 2 feet away, Brittany smirks, because she knows exactly what's she's doing. Those who think that Brittany is a dumb blonde, they're the idiots, because Santana knows too well how knowledgeable the blonde can be in times like this. In times where she's finding it hard to keep her hands to herself.

She grips the cards in her hands that much tighter, because no, this time, Brittany's not going to get the satisfaction of her surrendering yet again. Why does she always agree to this idiotic game that's completely up to chance when she can have Brittany at her mercy anytime she wants? Oh that's right, she does that way too cute to be legal pouting thing that treats Santana's resolve like its personal punching bag. She internally scolds herself for giving in too easily, even when she knows that they'll inevitably end up here, with her being too distracted to pay attention to her cards while Brittany looks as cool as an ice cream sandwich. God knows, the girl's even got sunglasses on.

"Blush." Brittany takes off her shades and stares straight into her eyes, and it makes her visibly squirm. She can't help it.

"It's called a 'flush', Brit, and you're supposed to keep what you have to yourself, you know." She ducks under her 5 cards, suddenly feeling hotter under the blonde's gaze.

Brittany holds her stare, unfazed. "I wasn't talking about my hand."

Santana does exactly that, blushes, and she doesn't have to look up to know that the corners of the girl's mouth has curved upward just a little. Jesus Christ, Brittany.

When her mind clears up enough to actually look at the cards in her hands, she figures out that she's got a straight. Which, according to simple statistical mathematics (people sometimes forget that Sue also demands an impossibly high GPA in order to be a Cheerio), means she's probably going to win. Thank God, or perhaps she should be thanking lord Tubbington when he just strolled in earlier and messed up the whole deck, because the last thing she needs right now is for Brittany to see her panties. That girl needs to take off _something_. Before Santana loses it and rips it off herself, that is.

"What do you got?" Santana asks, laying out her 5 cards onto the bed, satisfied with how they look. Brittany pouts, putting her sunglasses back on and looking back down at her own cards, then promptly tosses them onto the bed, face down.

"You win." The brunette almost reaches for the discarded cards just to see what Brittany had, out of curiosity, but then the taller girl starts taking her top off and she doesn't even care about the cards anymore. Curiosity killed the cat anyway.

Brittany knew they were going to play this today. She must've known, otherwise she wouldn't have come with a brand new piece from Victoria's Secret on. Santana curses at herself inwardly again, because how is she supposed to stand looking at the girl with that lacy bra on while the only thing she can grab is plastic cards.

"You want to deal next or should I?" There's a challenge in Brittany's voice. She's daring her to reach out and touch. Daring her to give up. Honestly, Santana sometimes wonders where she's getting these tendencies to torture from, and why is it only ever directed at her?

Well two can play that game.

"I'll deal next."

Brittany pushes the glasses down and gives her a look. She, of course, makes sure to let her fingers linger on Santana's when she hands over the deck of cards. It admittedly made the brunette shiver slightly, only from the cold, she convinces herself.

She absentmindedly shuffles then deal out 5 cards to the blonde, then herself.

When Santana picks up her cards, her heart sinks. She's got nothing. An ace. That's it. She bites her bottom lip, wondering what she'll take off next. The easiest thing would be her earrings, which she's only just remembered she's still wearing. But then again, she's just about had it with this game, and what better way to get both what she wants and prove Brittany wrong than to take off her bra. The blonde's a total goner when it comes to those. It's quite possibly the only thing that can hook Brittany under her spell quickly, compared to the million things the blonde has that does the same thing to her.

What she doesn't count on, is that the taller girl's highest card is only a ten. Which means Brittany takes off her sunglasses, and it's worse than taking off her skinny jeans. Her eyes literally undress what's left of Santana's clothes, then move back up her shoulderblades, to her neck, and finally stop at her lips. She feels almost violated by those brilliantly sexy pair of eyes.

Santana's heart is pounding incredibly hard in her ribcage, and it feels like she's burned her hand when it comes in contact with Brittany's again. No, more like she got an electric shock that runs all the way down to her toes.

"Can we pause this for 2 minutes?" The brunette questions, although it wouldn't matter even if the answer is 'no'. She highly doubts Brittany would complain.

The blonde briefly glances up at the clock hanging on the wall. "Not a second over 120."

Not a second after the last syllable is spoken are Santana's lips on hers. Insistent and demanding. Brittany moans into the kiss, tongue twining with the brunette's immediately. It's all tongues and teeth, hot and hotter. No more than the meeting of their lips, no more than the meeting of souls. They part for all of half a second to get some useless oxygen into their lungs before the blonde is pulling Santana back in, hands finding purchase on the back of her neck, nails digging into the warm, smooth skin. It makes Santana absolutely insane, as intended. She gasps for air when Brittany moves down to her neck as she arches it to get more contact, pulling the blonde in even closer by her waist.

Damn Brittany, how the fuck does she know her body so well. Knows the right buttons to push, the exact spot to suck and the quickest way to get Santana writhing, moaning, arching like mad underneath her fingertips.

"Break's over." The blonde cuts her off just as quickly as Santana pounced on her. It literally feels like someone just ripped a band aid from her sensitive skin.

The fuck. What the actual fuck. Santana instinctively grazes her lips with her fingers, she can still feel the girl's lips on her own. She feels cold the instant Brittany's warmth leaves her. How is she still smirking. How is she still able to even function properly. Santana has trouble even breathing like a normal human being again, not to mention sitting up and acting like nothing happened. Santana will snap, if they keep taking their clothes off and doing nothing about it, and soon.

After a few more seconds of this, Santana's dumbstruck, it sinks in that no, Brittany's not going to climb on top of her again. She wants to finish the stupid fucking game. Wants to win. This is all Sue Sylvester's fault, for drilling into their brains that winning is everything. Fuck. She realizes that she is also a Cheerio, and not just any Cheerio, the co-captain, and therefore wants to win as well, if not more so.

Well, if it's a _game_ Brittany wants, a game is what she'll get. But it's not going to be poker.

She looks down at the bed, and somehow, _somehow_ the cards are still in place, it's as if they're ridiculing her. Not in the least bit messed up.

"I hate you." Santana's not even joking. She means every single word, as she picks up her cards. Why did she agree to play this again?

"I hate you more."

"Well, I hate you times infinity."

"I hate you times double infinity."

"Screw you."

"I'm sure you'd like that very much." She smirks, laying down her cards. A fucking full house.

Santana doesn't lose eye contact when she removes her Cheerios skirt, she's determined now. Cheerios aren't trained to lose, after all, in _anything_. Brittany's grin falters, just a tiny bit, but it doesn't go unnoticed.

Santana can't believe she's actually fucking doing this. But desperate times calls for desperate measures. She gets on all fours and actually, _actually_ crawls the two feet over to where Brittany's sitting.

"How about we make this interesting." Brittany gulps, and Santana doesn't have to feel it to know that the blonde's heart just skipped a beat. She's having a hard time herself, not letting her head lean forward half an inch to nip on the girl's earlobe, which will make her breath hitch. The blonde's eyes will flutter shut and her head will tilt to the side, her open neck inviting, and she knows just how amazingly soft the skin there would be. She knows it like instinct, where the most sensitive spot to nip at is, and what will happen if she does. Santana has all the paths that would lead to Brittany's collarbone etched into her brain, down to her breasts, she knows how to make the girl moan her name and arch up off the bed then. Most importantly, she knows how to tease and how to fuck Brittany senseless, get her to forget all about the poker and just strip, next time. She knows it all, like how normal people would know that one and one makes two. But she doesn't lean forward, doesn't do any of it.

Santana swears she can hear the energy fizzle between them now, the breathless anticipation. "Whoever loses the next hand, loses all their clothes."

Brittany mutely nods, straining to keep her head still and her breathing even. Because just as Santana has her body mapped out clearly, she knows Santana's like the back of her hand.

"You deal." The brunette tilts her head, challenging the other girl. This time, she quickly pulls her hand away like it's touched a boiling hot pan, careful not to let Brittany pull any funny business this time round.

Santana congratulates herself on a job well done. The blonde's hand is very subtly shaking. Although there are other ways to make use of Brittany's fingers other than shuffling and dealing a round of poker.

They pick up their respective cards. Brittany glances from Santana, back to her cards, back up to Santana's eyes again, which were boring into her, not paying attention to what's in her hand at all.

"Two pairs," Brittany announces. Kings and Aces.

Santana takes a look at what she has, and now it's her turn to smirk, as she places her cards down onto the bed, face up.


End file.
